


Going Under

by matrimus



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: M/M, Merman Rhett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 17:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13369956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matrimus/pseuds/matrimus
Summary: When Link takes a job at California'sAquarium of the Pacific, he expects his days to be filled with octopus Pilates and high-fiving manta rays. Thelastthing he expects is to find a mythical beast of his own, one who doesn't seem too happy to be trapped behind glass.





	Going Under

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello, Mythical Beasts! It seems I’ve fallen headfirst into the wonderful world of merman Rhett, and dang it, I couldn’t resist trying my hand at a lil’ drabble of my own. This is my first tentative step into the Rhink fandom, so… be gentle with me? I intended this as a drabble, but may extend this into a full fic if anyone is interested in reading more. 
> 
> Please feel free to come scream at me over on [Tumblr](http://matrimus.tumblr.com/), I'd love to chat to more of ya'll!  
> Direct link to the drabble on Tumblr [here](http://matrimus.tumblr.com/post/169662874498/a-merrhettlink-drabble-rated-t-inspired-by-gmm).

So _apparently_ , running an aquarium required a lot of cleaning.

Link would have been lying if he’d said that shoving a vacuum around the glass-panelled walkways of California’s _Aquarium of the Pacific_ was the most thrilling of part-time jobs. When he’d first spotted the ad for an Aquarium Assistant in the morning paper – lightly browned toast pausing by parted lips, the imprint of his pillow still pressed into the soft skin of his cheek – Link’s imagination had immediately ran wild. What kind of awesome things could one expect to do at an aquarium? Octopus Pilates? Maybe high-five some manta rays?

Surely anything was more exciting than his current job sitting slumped behind a computer screen for 8 hours straight, wracking his brains to solve complex mathematical equations for little glory or fanfare. Engineering was a good job – a solid, steady job, safe and secure and most likely a lot of other, equally positive s-words – but _exciting_ …? He’d had more riveting conversations with his mailman than the vast majority of his co-workers, none of them people he would call actual friends. The smart shirt and tie he had worn day-in, day-out had been slowly strangling the life from him for years now, though the longing for _adventure_ had never truly left his heart.

It had taken guts to quit, to pack up and leave his childhood town of Buies Creek. His mom had pursed her lips in worry even as she’d pressed a Tupperware container of peanut butter sandwiches into his hands. Los Angeles was far away; the least she could do was see him there with a full stomach. At 35 years old, with early-onset grey already dusting his temples and his glasses prescription only worsening with each passing year, Link was still her baby boy. It made her proud to see him fly the nest, so to speak, L.A a city of opportunity and grandeur. Her son could really _make_ something of himself there.

Link nudged the vacuum none-too-gently against a lingering tourist’s sneakers, something dark and bitter cloying his tongue. If only his mom could see the _grandeur_ of his current predicament. Would she still be quite so proud of him?

Sucking a deep breath through his nose, Link held it tight in his chest for a practised count of five. _Baby steps, Neal,_ he thought to himself sternly; _no great mountain was climbed in a single day_. He was destined for great things, he could feel it as clearly as the stubborn tourist could feel the ram of the vacuum against her heel. If he did a great job today, his supervisor would be more likely to promote him tomorrow. He’d be getting whiskery kisses off a sealion in no time.

The rippling blue water on the opposite side of the pipe-like glass tunnels cast shifting shadows over his skin, the lazy drift of glittering fish enough to relax the bite of anxiety in his gut. He focused on the incessant drone of the vacuum, turning his attention toward the hypnotising pulse of marine life barely inches from his nose. He may not have been a particular _fan_ of fish, especially not to eat, but this had to beat industrial engineering. Besides, cleaning was a therapeutic pastime for him – might as well get paid to do it.

Chalking his mental battle with the tourist as a loss, Link continued on to the next hallway. The sprawling open-air tanks gave way to white concrete, clearly a more office occupied area of the aquarium. A door ahead was locked with an electronic card reader, an overhead camera pointed toward the hall as though standing sentry. Link hesitated for a long moment, glancing down at his uniform of a simple blue polo shirt and white shorts. A badge hung around his neck, **CHARLES NEAL** printed in bold beneath a slightly stunned-looking photograph of himself. The grumpy security guy hadn’t bothered to warn him before the flash of the camera snapped his likeness, and Link hadn’t dared to complain on his very first day. He’d give it a week, he figured, before attempting to sweet talk a second, more flattering picture.

Unflattering or not, the badge allowed him access to a number of places otherwise off-limits to regular visitors. Link turned off the vacuum, idly twirling the badge on its lanyard. Resisting curiosity had never been a particularly strong trait of his, even as a cautious child. Heck, the desire to explore had taken him across the country – one little electronic lock wasn’t going to stop him now. The worst that could happen was his badge would be rejected, and he’d move on. There was nothing to be cautious about.

Pressing the hard plastic against the lock, Link’s heart skipped a beat when the light flashed from red to green with a short beep. A surprised smile stretching his lips, he glanced over his shoulder before slipping through the door, dragging the vacuum inside with him. It didn’t hurt to have an alibi, after all – offices had to be cleaned too, right?

Except the room that greeted him was certainly not an office. Blue eyes visibly widened at the sight of a huge laboratory of some kind, circular in shape and packed with an array of metal examination tables and expensive-looking medical equipment. The entire room carried the acidic scent of cleaning fluid, sterile and sharp at the back of his nose. Link’s soft sneakers made no noise as he crept further into the room, vacuum left abandoned by the door.

What was this place? Link’s lip curled as he peered into a jar of what looked like congealed frogspawn. Various test tubes held vials of viscous liquid, some red and some green, surgical knives set out neatly in a metal tray beside them. The examination tables, he noticed with a thick gulp, had unforgiving leather straps where wrists and ankles would lay. Unease began to settle in the pit of Link’s stomach, goosebumps lifting the shorter hairs at the back of his neck. This wasn’t like the clinic he’d cleaned this morning, bright and airy with a smiling veterinarian. This was something straight out of a sci-fi movie, a nightmare of electric-blue lighting and macabre test tubes. He eyed a jar of what appeared to be severed fish tails, gut roiling when one of them _twitched_.

He had to leave, _now_. Turning, Link barely registered the huge tank in the center of the room until his own reflection caught his attention, his eyes taking a sluggish moment to shift to the clear waters beyond.

He stopped, body grinding to a halt as though short-circuiting. Full lips fell slack, his heart leaping high into his throat.

There, sat primly on the floor of the tank with his arms crossed tight over his chest, was an honest to God _merman_. The skin of his face and torso was the colour of fresh-cut grass, thin stripes across his arms and upper chest a darker, mossier shade. Twin sets of thin slits fluttered either side of his throat – _gills_ , Link thought numbly – and webbed skin stretched between the spaces of his long fingers. His neat beard was as green as the hair on his head, which was styled upward in wavy, hand-tousled locks. Link’s eyes slid robotically to the tail where the man’s legs ought to be, strong and lightly muscled, jade scales blending seamlessly with the skin of his lower stomach. The merman glared at him, lips pursed in a frown, and the tips of his fins flicked in annoyance.

This was a hoax – it had to be. Link tried to swallow against the panicked catch in his throat, stumbling back a short step until he could grip the cool edge of an examination table behind him. Jeez, talk about extreme; did they pull such an elaborate prank on _all_ the newcomers? The tail alone must have cost a fortune… and how the Hell was the guy in the tank doing such a good job of holding his breath for so long?

Sweat beading at his temple, Link’s feverish eyes flicked upward toward the cameras in the ceiling. His supervisor was no doubt watching him right now, laughing her ass off. Link opened his mouth to nervously congratulate them on a job well done –- _alright, guys, I learned my lesson; no more snooping!_ – and found the words dry and unrelenting in his throat.

The merman cocked his head, suspicious. The sinewy muscles of his tail flexed as he twisted more fully toward the glass, and Link felt his head spin. No costume could hold up that well, the man’s gills flexing in time with the slow rise and fall of his chest. Breathing; he was _breathing_ underwater.

 _Oh God_. Link’s hand was clammy as it pressed to his neck, the world slowly starting to swim out of focus. _There's a fucking merman in the aquarium_.

The merman’s initial hostility remained in the tense hunch of his shoulders, though it had eased enough for curiosity to shine in the depths of his sea-green eyes. He swam closer, hands lifting to press against the glass. The room around them suddenly began to make clear, sickening sense.

He was a prisoner here.

Was he experimented on, cut open and sewn back together? Were the vials of green and red liquid his blood, the frogspawn-like substance something that came from inside him? Link’s hand slid to his mouth in horror, his heart clenching. Where had the merman come from? Were there more of them out there? Would he ever be released, or did the aquarium plan to unveil him as an exhibit in the future? Surely they wouldn’t kill him, even in the name of science. The thought was enough to steel Link’s nerves, a huff of air drawn through his nose.

Tentatively, he stepped closer to the tank on legs that felt like jello, a small, hesitant smile touching his lips. His hands mirrored the merman’s own, their palms separated by an inch of strong glass. “Hi,” he whispered.

The merman tipped his head again, a strangely animal-like gesture. Link licked dry lips, and tried again.

“Can you… can you hear me? Can you _understand_ me?”

The merman’s eyes narrowed for a moment as though studying the human before him. He eventually pointed upward toward the open top of his tank, a metal staircase leading to a suspended walkway above. Link’s nod was more of a jerk, his limbs jarred into action. “Right. Right… I’ll meet you at the top?”

The merman followed his progress up the stairs, and if Link saw the ghost of a smile curl green-hued lips when the human stumbled over his own feet, then surely he could be forgiven for his clumsiness. His entire body shook with adrenaline, the pump of his heart a loud boom in his ears. Was this really happening?

Reaching the top of the staircase, Link paused to let his eyes wash over a mounted plaque like a museum exhibit, a list of Latin words and scientific phrases giving way to a single, simple name.

‘ **RHETT** ’

The merman’s head broke the surface of the water a safe distance away. He bobbed there effortlessly, the blurred outline of his tail flicking lazily back and forth beneath him. Link pointed toward the sign, a hopeful lift to his tone.

“Rhett? Your name's Rhett?”

The merman didn’t reply, though he did slide closer to the walkway. Link’s knees refused to hold him anymore; he sank slowly to sit by the edge, searching the merman’s expression for any sign of recognition. The glimmer of the water lit the man’s face with shimmering light, Link’s own skin pale and boring when held in comparison to the soft green of Rhett’s own. He almost barked a laugh, dry and half-crazed; was it _appropriate_ of him to be admiring the wet sheen of the merman’s skin in such a way, to wonder how the stiff waves of his hair would feel when drawn through his fingers? There was no denying he was handsome, his hooded eyes and easy grace entirely captivating – a siren of folklore made flesh.

“Link,” Link continued, ignoring the blush painting his cheeks as he pressed a hand to his chest. “Link.” He pointed to Rhett and back to himself. “Rhett. Link. Can you understand me? You… probably can’t understand me.”

Rhett’s elbows lifted free of the water to rest lightly on the walkway. When he spoke, his voice was a silken baritone that sent shivers racing the length of Link’s spine.

“You’re not like the others, are you... _Link_?”


End file.
